


Dereliction of Duty

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Enemies to Lovers, FBI Agent Castiel (Supernatural), FBI Agent Dean Winchester, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Amara/Dean Winchester, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 15:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20293690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: FBI Special Agent Castiel Novak has invested the last two years of his life in tracking down the felon Dean Winchester.  Cas is single-minded in his goal, not least because tracking down Dean Winchester means finally being able to demand of Dean why he had given up 1) their friendship and 2) a promising career in the bureau to sleep with heiresses and steal their money.  But when Dean Winchester is finally caught, he uses his charms (and the considerable information he’s gathered in his career as a criminal) to convince the FBI director to use him as a consultant.  And his direct supervisor?  Special Agent Castiel Novak.





	Dereliction of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's been a while since I ventured into fandom. I missed my original posting date for the Destiel Harlequin Challenge and am only just making the late posting window! Yikes. Life's been a little crazy.
> 
> At any rate, enjoy this. 
> 
> Just a little disclaimer: my only knowledge of the FBI comes from procedural cop shows on TV, and most of the ones I've watched aren't about the FBI, soooooo there's probably not a lot of accuracy in the depiction of the FBI. Sorry.

I. Castiel Novak had always imagined Dean coming back into his life in handcuffs and weighed down by multiple life sentences. In Cas’s imagination, Dean, scarred by the crimes he’d committed against the country, would walk past Cas into the holding cell reserved for D. Winchester. And despite their past, Cas had been confident he could have stomached that.

He was not sure, however, that he could stomach _this: _the elevator doors sliding open to reveal Dean Winchester wearing jeans, a green tee-shirt, his favorite leather jacket, and a smirk. There were no handcuffs in sight, though Director A. Shurley walked slightly behind him with three junior agents. They were headed directly toward Cas.

It’s not as if Cas hadn’t had time to prepare for this. It had only been a few days, yes, but 72 hours should have been more than enough to prepare an FBI Special Agent for this assignment. 

But upon seeing Dean for the first time in two years, Cas had to admit that no amount of time or training could have prepared him for this moment: the reunion between Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester, the partnership that should have been, but never was.

Cas breathed in slowly, held the breath, then let it out. He was not going to let Dean see any moment of weakness. When the group arrived at his desk, he stood up and acknowledged the director first and nobody second. “Director.”

Amara Shurley nodded at him. “Special Agent Novak, this is the new assignment we spoke about.” She looked at Dean, who bristled a little.

Cas kept his eyes trained on the director. “Understood.”

She handed Cas a thick stack of folders. “We’ve reopened a few cold cases based off of the leads he’s given us. Work him over. Use him where you need to. If he’s uncooperative, he knows where he’ll be spending the next few decades.”

Cas felt his lips press together tightly. He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat - the smallest concession to a life he once lived. “Of course, Director.”

Her mouth was grim when she stepped in a little closer to Cas and murmured, “And keep an eye on him.” She stepped back. “He has a tracker on his ankle,” she said so that Dean could hear her. “An alert will be sent out automatically if he tries to leave, but even so agents are checking on it constantly as a precaution. Alerts will be sent out to a dozen special agents, including you, when he steps outside of any areas outside of the agreement.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Amara looked at Castiel significantly. “He’ll be escorted to his safehouse at the end of the day unless you need him. Come see me today when he’s gone.” She turned on her heel and walked away without a word to Dean. The junior agents went with her. 

With nothing else to stall the moment, Cas finally looked at Dean. Despite the time that had passed, Dean looked exactly like the Dean of two years ago: the same one for whom Cas had bought Christmas presents, the same one who kept Cas company on his birthday, the same one who had been there for Cas for all of the important and unimportant days. No one looking at Deam would have been able to tell that he had spent the last two years committing felonies left and right, on the run from the bureau that had been poised to employ him had he just stayed true. It discomfited Cas, because standing in front of him was the Dean of his young adulthood, the Dean of the past two years, and the Dean of right now - all in one. He wasn’t sure he could separate them.

Dean’s smirk was slow to appear, but appear it did. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas didn’t bother to distill his contempt, though he wasn’t sure if the contempt was aimed at Dean or himself. “Sit down” was all he said, “And don’t speak unless I address you.” He opened the first of the folders the director had given him and sat down at his desk.

Dean laughed under his breath. “Yes, _sir,_” he mocked. He looked at the seat in front of Cas’s desk, swept off some imagined piece of lint off of its upholstery, and sat down.

II. Director Singer had retired two months prior to Dean’s return, and Special Agent Amara Shurley had been promoted to his former position. Six months on, Cas acceded that she was capable and would very likely come into her own given enough time. That didn’t mean, of course, that Cas knew or understood why she insisted on _Cas _being Dean’s supervisor. She knew of their history, she knew it would be difficult despite Cas’s training - so _why_? Would it be inappropriate to ask for justification from his superior?

Cas tried to stomach the arrangement in the meantime. He didn’t always need or want Dean (in contrast to when he’d _always _needed and wanted Dean) so Dean had taken to spending his free time wandering the floor, chatting up the interns and drinking more than one felon’s share of coffee. The agents had been briefed, of course, to be careful around Dean, and Castiel was confident enough in his colleagues not to worry about security, but still -

Cas hated it. Cas hated every minute of it. He’d spent the two years prior to Dean’s return furiously seeking him out, dedicating every spare minute he had to bringing Dean to justice - and now here Dean was, no more than two dozen feet in any direction for 40 hours a week… as if he’d never turned turncoat against the FBI. 

As if he’d never left. 

As if he’d never abandoned Cas.

One morning, Dean approached Cas with powdered sugar on his chin. He sat down in his usual chair in front of Cas’s desk and put his feet up on Cas’s paperwork. Cas refused to take Dean’s bait. He turned to his computer screen instead.

After a while, Dean tried a different tack.

“You haven’t even looked at me since Amara partnered us up.” It was only the slightest bit accusatory. Mostly he sounded curious.

Cas started typing as he answered, determined not to appear affected, even though he could feel his ears getting hot in irritation.

“First of all,” Cas said, very slowly, not wanting to speak but wanting to put the record straight, “You and I are not ‘partners’; I’m an FBI Special Agent, and you’re a convicted felon who had the good fortune to be useful to the bureau.” He conceded an irritated huff. “Also, please refer to ‘Amara’ as ‘director,’ or ‘ma’am.’”

Cas made the mistake of looking at Dean then, just for a moment - just in time to see a peculiar expression cross Dean’s face at the mention of the director. Cas stopped typing to stare at Dean in dawning shock.

“Are you sleeping with her?” Cas asked - not really a question but a realization.

Dean’s eyebrows flew up. 

It suddenly made sense to Cas why the director so often summoned Dean to her office and why Dean was so willing to go. Cas waited for a denial but did not get one. “Right,” he said, once the concept sunk in. He felt sick. He looked away, searching for a folder on his desk - any folder - that would give him a reason to leave his desk, leave this office, maybe even leave this whole goddamn forsaken world.

There was a long pause. “…You’re jealous,” Dean observed. There was no expression on his face.

Cas didn’t respond to that, though he knew the red high on his cheeks was giving him away. “It’s a conflict of interest,” he said as he opened a random folder and grabbed a highlighter from his desk drawer. It was out of ink; he tossed it in the trash and grabbed for another one. “And definitely highly illegal.”

Dean’s laugh was sudden and dark. “A conflict of interest - you mean like pairing _us _together?”

Despite Cas’s best efforts, Dean was getting under his skin. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. “A conflict of interest implies emotional investment.” Cas was horrified to feel a lump in his throat. “And you forfeited that two years ago when you abandoned the FBI to sell state secrets to foreign heiresses.” 

There was a silence that lasted a beat too long. Dean’s reply had notes of bitterness: “‘I sell out the government,’ as you put it, and yet you think I’d be concerned about a conflict of interest?” He took a deep breath and added, “I’ll sleep with who I want to, thanks.” 

They stared each other down for a few seconds. Dean looked away first: down, for the barest of seconds, then turned his head away to the break room. He took his boots off of Cas’s desk and walked away.

III. “You don’t get to dictate what I do.” 

For a moment, Cas felt as if he were 19 again and standing in his college apartment - the one he’d only been able to afford because Dean had split the rent with him. They’d argued only occasionally then - about dishes and the thermostat and dates and who finished the last of the milk - but lately arguing seemed to be the only way they could communicate.

They were alone in the elevator, waiting to be brought back down to their floor after being out in the field following a lead. Cas didn’t look at Dean. He looked at the lights above the door but before long Dean’s bristling pulled a reply out of Cas: “Dictating what you do is literally my job right now. I don’t know if you remember but -”

“You’re the agent and I’m the felon? Yeah, I know - you’ve only mentioned it twice today and three times every day since I’ve come back.”

Despite himself Cas was irritated. “I wouldn’t have to repeat myself if you’d actually remember your position in this bureau.”

“My position? You mean Special Agent Novak’s personal stepstool? Aiming for the director’s spot, are you?”

“Your _lack _of a position, I meant to say,” Cas said.

Dean’s eye-roll seemed audible. “You wouldn’t even have come close to closing those last four cases without me. Like it or not, I’m _useful._”

Cas’s laugh was bitter. “Yes, please continue being smug about the information you learned _while you were a criminal_.” He caught Dean’s scowl and parried: “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t still be out there if you hadn’t been caught. And don’t pretend like you’re doing America a favor when all you’re doing is saving your own ass from life in prison.”

IV. When Dean’s tracker tripped the alarms, Cas wished he felt at all surprised. All he felt instead was the bitter realizations that all of his worst expectations of Dean were fulfilled. He supposed he’d harbored some misplaced hope that Dean had actually been trying to redeem himself - but then Cas found himself staring at his phone watching Dean’s coordinates change, and there was no way Cas could trick himself any longer.

“Parking garage,” he replied numbly to one of the inquiring agents. “I think he’s trying to get away.”

He grabbed his gun from his desk mechanically and followed the half dozen agents trooping down to the garage. He couldn’t imagine using the gun on Dean - though he’d already used it more than he’d ever wished and was even quite good with it too - and he wondered if it was a failing or success of his training that he couldn’t bring himself to even think about raising a gun at his former best friend.

But as they approached the corner of the parking garage that Dean had chosen, Cas prepared himself. If he had to take a shot, he would take it, and any lingering feelings be damned; he needed to do his job. Grief (for the Dean that stopped existing two years ago) would follow later, and so Cas would deal with it later. 

Cas and the other agents ducked behind cars and approached Dean and his companion silently. The pair was bent over the open hood of a car, murmuring to each other. Within the next few seconds, they were surrounded by a small troop of armed agents.

“Hands up! Stop whatever you’re doing!” 

Cas didn’t know who called out, but he was glad it didn’t have to be him. Guns drawn, he and the agents rose from where they had been waiting and approached the pair, who had immediately put their hands up when they heard the command. Dean had pushed his companion behind him when he saw the guns. Whoever it was could barely be seen behind Dean’s torso.

Then an agent called out, “Is that - Ernesto?”

Ernesto was one of their custodians. He was six months from retirement, spoke only a handful of English, and had taken in recent weeks to showing a photo of his first grandchild to anybody he came across. He was also at this moment extremely terrified. Cas could see his hands shaking in the air as he called out in his accent, “Yes, it’s me - Ernesto! Please don’t shoot!”

Meanwhile, Dean was staring down six loaded guns and barely seemed moved. “He mentioned his car was giving him trouble; I offered to help.”

“I am sorry - I did not think - I did not mean to - “ Ernesto was so nervous he was babbling.

One of the agents glared at Dean. “Put your guns down,” he said needlessly to the rest, who had already holstered their weapons. One of them immediately went to comfort Ernesto.

Cas, however, did not put his weapon away immediately. He watched Dean for a moment or two longer, looking for any sign of ulterior motive. 

Dean watched right back. His face was a mask of stone.

V. “You were ready to shoot me,” Dean accused, an hour later. He was angry. He had just come from the director’s office where he had (supposedly) been firmly reprimanded by the director for putting Ernesto in danger, and somehow the first thing on his to-do list afterward was to make a beeline for Cas and accuse Cas of actually doing his job. It occurred to Cas that maybe he wasn’t the only one whose worst expectations had been realized.

“I would have done it if I needed to,” Cas said honestly. He injected a little bit of venon into his tone and relished in the way Dean flinched. “Regardless of what affection I may have held for you in the past.”

Dean’s eyes flickered between Cas’s. Cas didn’t back down. Eventually Dean looked away. 

VI. It was Cas’s first time out of the house without having to walk into an office and see Dean. It was a Saturday morning, and it was quiet, and it was nice not to have the presence of a felon at the back of his mind. He was in a good mood. Coffee in his favorite diner didn’t hurt, either.

When he voiced this thought to Bobby over their breakfasts, the man snorted. “That boy could never stay away from you too long.” There was a trace of the mildest sort of affection in his voice. When Cas raised his eyebrows, Bobby looked away. “It’s a shame.”

Retirement was not treating Bobby well. He seemed tired despite apparently fishing all day, and he was gruffer than usual, though he claimed he was happy to see Cas. 

Cas looked more closely at Bobby. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cas asked, casting a critical eye over his former boss. 

Bobby wiped egg from his mouth. “Yeah. Been fishing a lot.”

There were bags under Bobby’s eyes. Cas gave him a skeptical look. “What, fishing at 2am? You look like you haven’t slept in years.”

Bobby bristled. “I’m not used to being so goddamn still, alright? I’m restless. Can’t sleep.”

That, at least, Cas could relate to. He lifted his coffee mug and took a long gulp, burned tongue be damned. 

A silence stretched on. Then Bobby asked what Cas could tell he’d been dying to ask since sitting down: “How is he?”

“I’m not sure I’m allowed to say,” Cas said, staring at the surface of his coffee. “I’m not sure I _want _to say.”

“That bad?”

“Depends what you mean by bad,” Cas replied. “He’s helped us close a lot of cases. But… you know he’s still a felon, right?”

Bobby gave him a withering look. “I was head of the goddamn FBI before you were even out of high school. Of course I know he’s a felon. That’s a stupid-ass question. I was asking because I was concerned about _you, _you idiot.”

“Oh.” Cas busied himself with adding some more milk to his coffee, struggling a little bit with the minor show of affection. Bobby as FBI director had been considerate and fair, but no one could ever have accused him of being _nice._

Cas floundered a little bit for a topic. And landed on the worst one possible. “I think he’s sleeping with the director.”

As soon as he said it, Cas regretted it, but Bobby just stared at him, unimpressed. “Seriously? Years of FBI training, and that’s what you conclude?”

“You weren’t there,” Cas said, more than a little defensively.

“Novak, if you really believed they were… doin’ the do on the side… you would have said something earlier. You’re too good of an agent to let that slide.”

“I didn’t say anything because - “

“Because you didn’t want to expose a felon to one more scandal? What difference would it have made? Hypothetically speaking, you’d have cleaned up the bureau of a corrupt director if you’d exposed them. Ain’t exactly a bad thing.” Bobby let Cas mull it over for a few more moments, then he added, “Y’see, you don’t actually believe what you’re trying to sell me.”

Cas shook his head. “Why are you defending him?”

Bobby’s answer took a second longer than it should have. “I’m not. I know what you’re trying to do, is all.”

Cas’s peaceful Saturday was going downhill very quickly. “What am I trying to do?”

Bobby looked Cas in the eye solemnly. “Trying to deal with your best friend coming back into your life. It’s easier to believe the worst about him, so you do.” He shrugged. “But you don’t, not really.”

Cas looked out the window. He used to come here with Dean, many years ago. Cas would look out the window to avoid looking at Dean’s eyes, so vibrantly green in the light bouncing off the pavement. It had taken him many long months to return, and he was beginning to think that returning hadn’t been a good idea after all. “He betrayed the bureau, Bobby,” he said.

“I’ve heard.”

“He betrayed the country.”

“I get it, boy,” Bobby said. “Still doesn’t mean he wasn’t your best friend. Those feelings won’t go away no matter how you try.”

“Still gonna try,” Cas said, lifting his mug to his lips again.

Bobby sighed.

VII. He shouldn’t have said it, but he did anyway. 

Dean was sprawled out at the bottom of a flight of carpeted stairs, breathing hard and clutching his shoulder after being pushed down the stairs by a former “colleague” from his felon days. That “colleague” was now in custody, and his eventual conviction would made six cases closed with Dean’s help. 

Around them, other agents were processing the scene. Dean doubtless needed to offer a statement, but nobody was approaching just yet.

Cas looked down at him. He’d seen Dean be thrown onto his back onto the stairs but Cas fought past the concern. He didn’t offer a hand. He didn’t offer gratitude. He offered the truth instead, and maybe Dean would understand Cas’s cruelty despite Dean’s supposed efforts at redemption. Cas said, “I loved you.” 

Dean closed his eyes and let his head loll back against the ugly wallpaper of the hotel. He was in pain but Cas knew him enough to know that he wasn’t going to ask for help. “I know,” Dean breathed.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much. It meant that Dean had known and hadn’t found Cas’s love worth staying for. “Oh, ‘_you know_,’” Cas repeated. His voice was shaking. “It’s easy to walk away from someone who loved you, at least for Dean Winchester.”

Dean didn’t answer, but there was a minute shake of the head, like he was ashamed to be caught at it.

Cas kept going, a snowball gaining momentum, cold and dangerous. The words were ice on the tip of his tongue. “You’ve probably wondered why I haven’t asked why you did what you did.”

Dean’s breathing was deep and controlled, his eyes still squeezed so tightly shut they were trembling. Cas could see the amount of tension in his muscles and despite himself, imagined how it must have felt to keep from crying out when his shoulder was at the vey least dislocated.

“The _why _haunted me for two years.” Cas could see someone approaching, probably to check on Dean’s shoulder. “But then you waltzed into the office like you’d never left, and I finally had the opportunity to ask - but I found that I didn’t care anymore,” Cas said. “Whatever love and concern I had for you, you destroyed it.” He knew the words would hurt Dean, and he said them still, even though his voice was shaking. 

Dean opened his eyes then and looked at Cas directly, pain making his eyes glossy. “Cas - “

“I would have done anything for you,” Cas continued. If he heard what Dean had to say, he would never be able to move past it. Dean had always been the stop sign in the road, the one to pull Cas back and make him _think._

Dean looked at the ground, the fight going out of him. The adrenaline had faded. He was exhausted, and Cas knew that this conversation wasn’t helping. Dean would probably need a few hours under medical observation after this. But nothing was going to stop the words spilling from Cas’s lips.

“Anything,” he repeated. “Anything besides betray the bureau. Which is why it’s so ridiculous that of all the things, that’s exactly what _you_ chose to do.”

He had two seconds to watch Dean’s heart splinter because someone cleared their throat and muttered an _excuse me, _walking between them and leaning over Dean in the next second.

Cas walked away.

VIII. The week leading up to Dean’s birthday was tense, not least because Dean’s safehouse had been compromised and the director, in clipped tones over the phone, had informed Cas that she expected him to volunteer to house Dean until another safehouse could be secured. Cas had accepted the proposal, though it had filled him with dread. Dean, too, had accepted this pronouncement, a sullen shrug his only real reaction. Cas knew that other things had been bothering Dean at the time, but those other things were things Cas could not help with.

The arrangements were simple enough: the bureau upgraded Cas’s alarm system and set up security cameras around the perimeter of the house in exchange for housing Dean; Dean was to remain in the house until it was time to go to work; every workday he and Cas were escorted from the door to a waiting car, which would also escort them back to Cas’s house at the end of the day. Dean stayed in the guest bedroom and made no noise. Cas cooked. Dean ate. They said nothing to each other.

Then January 24 came around, and Dean was a year older. On that day he came out of his room in the morning and sat down at the kitchen table, staring at his phone. Cas stabbed at the eggs in the frying pan. _Happy birthday _was the typical choice for an occasion like this, but Cas hadn’t spoken a kind word to Dean in almost 3 years. Could he start now?

Dean saved him from starting the conversation. “Sammy wants to talk to me,” he said. The next four words were pulled out of somewhere painful: “Can I call him?”

Cas’s ears burned in shame. Dean’s conditional release from a hefty prison sentence dictated that any calls he made were to be supervised by an agent. This condition wouldn’t have mattered if the call were on any other day and from some random old friend… but it was Dean’s birthday, and it was Sam. Dean deserved the privacy that Cas couldn’t give, especially because Cas knew that Sam was having trouble accepting Dean’s situation. Things between the brothers had been tense since Dean’s disappearance and subsequent capture, and despite Dean asking Sam if they could see each other, Sam had flatly refused, citing the need for more time to come to terms with Dean’s status as a felon.

Cas almost burned the eggs. He cursed and turned off the burner, scooping the eggs out onto a plate afterward. When he lifted his eyes to Dean, Dean was still staring, obviously waiting for permission.

“Go ahead,” Cas said, far more gruffly than he intended. 

Without a word, Dean dialed Sam’s number. He put the call on speakerphone and waited with a strained face as the call went on ringing - once, twice, three times. Dean released a breath when Sam finally picked up.

“Sammy,” Dean breathed.

Cas heard a barely concealed sigh from Sam. “Hey, Dean. Happy birthday.”

Dean should have been happy to hear this. But he only closed his eyes and muttered a numb, “Thanks.” His cheeks were red in mortification; his throat bobbed painfully.

Cas closed his own eyes and decided. Sam could never be a security threat. Years earlier, he might have been, when it had only been he and Dean, but now Sam had a family, and his priority was no longer Dean. Cas walked out of the kitchen. In his bedroom, he gathered his things for a shower. When he passed the kitchen, Dean’s eyes followed him through the doorway, framed by furrowed brows and lips parted in surprise.

_Happy birthday, _Cas thought, but didn’t say.

IX. “Where you going?” 

It was the first thing Dean had said to Cas outside of the office in days. He was staring at Cas’s shoes. 

Cas looked down too, admiring the shine of the dress shoes. When he looked up, Dean was watching him with a furrow between his brows. Cas grabbed his coat from the closet. “On a date,” he said finally.

He shouldn’t have looked at Dean, but he did. His eyes caught the twist of Dean’s lips. “You haven’t been out of the house or office in weeks,” Dean said derisively. “You expect me to believe you?”

“You don’t have to believe me,” Cas said dismissively. He checked his phone. “Bobby’s coming by to babysit you.”

“Where’d you meet her?”

Cas leveled an unmpressed look at Dean. “I thought you said you didn’t believe me.”

Dean scowled. Cas felt a sick satisfaction at the expression. 

The doorbell rang. Cas let Bobby in, and after a quick exchange of greetings, started on his way out the door. He couldn’t resist, however, throwing one last remark at Dean over his shoulder: “I met him online, if you must know.”

He shut the door on Dean’s slack face.

X. Director Shurley started receiving flowers on a frequent basis. Cas didn’t believe they were from Dean, but after the 5th time in a month, Cas really needed to know. Cas ignored Bobby’s voice in his head calling him an idiot as he intercepted one of the orders before it was delivered to her. He plucked the card out to read it. _I know you’ve always wanted to visit Russia, _it read. _I’ll bring you here one day. Until then, much love. Chuck._

Cas felt the grip on his heart loosen. He delivered the flowers to Chuck’s sister himself, admiring the fragile arrangement as he took the elevator up to her floor. Her office was full of other arrangements, all in varying colors and states of decay. She looked up from her place behind her desk when Cas entered. A look of irritation crossed her face.

“Another one,” she said. “I’m amazed my brother has the time.”

“He’s very thoughtful,” Cas said, walking over to her desk and handing it to her to admire. “Are all of these from him?”

She sighed, once she looked at the card. “Yes. I wish he wouldn’t send so many at once. It’s more attention than I like. And there’s only so much room in here.” She looked sidelong at Cas. “How is our… consultant?”

Something about the look she gave him made Cas feel weirdly protective. He shoved the feeling to the side and buried it deep. “He’s… doing what’s been asked of him.”

Director Shurley put the flowers next to her computer and surveyed it. “I have no doubt,” she said, almost absentmindedly. Then she looked up at Cas and smiled. “Thank you for the delivery.”

XI. Cas could tell there was something on Dean’s mind just like he had always been able to tell, but nothing good could come out of anything that Dean wanted to say - at least not anymore. If it was bad news, it was bad news. If it was good news, it was still bad news. Dean was a felon. Dean was not his best friend.

For days, Cas successfully avoided Dean. Dean had been moved into his new safehouse, so Cas didn’t need to worry about being cornered at home, but avoiding Dean at the office was never going to work forever. Eventually the director asked what progress had been made on the next case and Cas had no answer for her, so he finally settled down at his desk, where Dean had been solving and resolving a Rubik’s cube for hours.

“Done?” Dean asked, not looking up.

“What do you mean?” Cas asked, pulling out a stack of folders from his desk drawer.

“Done hiding from me?”

Cas didn’t bother feigning ignorance. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Dean finished the last few turns on the Rubik’s cube and placed it back on Cas’s desk. “Well, decide now because I have something to say.”

Cas shook his head, picked up his pen, and opened a folder. “I know. Why do you think I was avoiding you?”

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

“Still don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s important.”

“Then I want to hear it even less.”

Cas started jotting down a note in the margin of the file in front of him. Dean reached out and covered Cas’s hand, stopping him. Immediately Cas grabbed his hand back. His blood roared in his ears. “Don’t.”

Dean looked straight into Cas’s eyes. “You need to know something.”

“I know everything I need to know, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean stared at him. Cas could see his chest rising and falling. After the third time, Dean murmured, “Not everything, Cas.”

Cas tore his eyes away from Dean’s gaze. He shut the folder in front of him and put his pen away.

“_Cas,_” Dean implored. “You’re my best friend - “

“I’m really not,” Cas hissed. He continued clearing his desk.

“This past year has been - “

“This past year shouldn’t even have happened,” Cas interrupted, pausing in his actions to direct a scathing look at Dean. “You should have been at your own goddamn desk in this office _being_ _my partner, _like we promised each other. You won’t get sympathy from me.”

He shoved his phone in his bag, grabbed his keys, and walked out on Dean like Dean had once walked out on Cas.

XII. Cas was restless. He was already settled down in front of his TV with a glass of wine, trying to begin his weekend, but at the back of his mind was something he’d noticed earlier in the office, something he tried to pass off as definitely-not-his-business but was still keeping him from enjoying _Family Feud._ It had been Dean’s behavior, because when was the source of Cas’s stress not Dean? Dean had been distracted as they worked, not in any large way, but in a way that Cas had learned to notice as a young man because it usually meant there’d been an argument beween Dean and his father. In the past Cas had been able to draw out what was bothering Dean with a six-pack of Dean’s favorite beer and a few movies on his couch, but that wouldn’t work now, not when there was Dean’s criminal record in the way.

Cas spent two hours pacing a hole in his rug before he decided he needed to direct his energy toward something productive. It was 8pm, but he grabbed his work things and drove to the office.

His floor wasn’t completely empty because the FBI offices were never empty. A few of his coworkers were working a case overnight a few desks away. He greeted them with a wave and settled down at his computer. The buzzing in his head lessened as he answered his emails, but his fingers still itched.

It was barely 15 minutes later that his eyes caught the elevator lights behind his monitor, indicating someone was headed to the floor above his office. Cas was instantly on the alert; there was only one office on that floor, and it was the director’s. He was on his feet and grabbing his gun from his drawer almost without realizing it. 

As he walked to the elevator, he tried to calm his suspicions: it was most likely the director, after all. There was no solid evidence that indicated that it might be anybody but her. Still, Cas wanted to make sure. He hadn’t gotten this far in his career ignoring his intuition.

He rode the elevator one floor up. The door’s slid open to a dim hallway. There was some light, however, emanating from underneath the door to the director’s office. Someone was in there, and that someone hadn’t bothered to turn on any other lights on the floor. Cas drew his gun.

He approached the door. Should he knock? Or should he try the door and risk the director’s wrath if it opened and she was there? He was in the middle of reaching for the doorknob when it opened.

Cas was raising his gun before he knew it and taking aim at the middle of Dean Winchester’s forehead. “Hands up.” His voice was remarkably steady.

“Goddammit, Cas,” Dean hissed. 

“Hands. Up.”

Dean swore under his breath. “You’re fucking things up, Cas.”

“I told you twice. I won’t tell you again. Hands up.”

Dean showed Cas his hands. 

Down the hallway, they heard the elevator doors start to slide open. Cas was momentarily distracted, and Dean took advantage: he yanked Cas into the office by his sleeve, closed the door, and turned off the light. Cas’s heart was a jackhammer in his chest: whoever they were hiding from definitely would have either heard the door close or seen the light. Either way, Cas was trapped, hiding behind a desk with a felon in the office of the director of the FBI, and Cas wasn’t actively trying to apprehend or disarm the felon. He would either be fired or dead by the end of the night, and he didn’t know which one he preferred.

Dean turned to Cas. His eyes were intense even in the darkness. “Whatever you do, stay behind this desk and _don’t shoot me_,” was all Dean had the time to say before he was standing. A half second later, the door opened and the light flickered on. 

“Dean. Why am I not surprised?” Amara’s voice was glacial. “To think we were getting along so well.”

“Who says we can’t still get along?” Dean walked out from behind the desk. There was a swagger in his walk. Even in the tension of the moment, Cas was impressed with Dean’s smoothness.

Amara chuckled. “It’s not just you in here. You think I don’t keep track of how often the elevator doors open? Whoever you are, come out.”

Cas gripped his gun a little more tightly. He didn’t move, knowing he was listening to the orders of a felon rather than to the director of the FBI and wondering why it didn’t feel more wrong.

“Just me,” Dean said lightly. “Now can I tell you why I’m here?”

“Not before your friend comes out.” 

It was the _snick _of her gun’s safety and the thought of Dean being on the receiving end of her bullet that made Cas do it. He stood from his hiding place, turned, and aimed the barrel of his gun at his boss. His hand was steady. Somehow he knew this was the right thing to do.

Dean, on the other hand, apparently disagreed. “You goddamn idiot,” he hissed.

Amara swung her gun to face Cas. “Castiel,” she purred. “I was hoping I might use you as blackmail material if Dean proved to be uncooperative in my future plans. But now you know too much.”

She pulled the trigger. Cas heard the gunshot echo and felt the bullet tear a hole in his shoulder. He cried out and dropped his gun, putting a hand to his bleeding shoulder. In the midst of a searing wave of pain, he registered the sound of a groan and a small scuffle. Then voices, familiar. One of them was Bobby’s.

“Good job, Special Agent Winchester,” he said. 

“Been waiting a long goddamn time to hear that,” Dean’s voice said.

Bizarrely, Cas’s last thought before blacking out was _I guess he really wasn’t sleeping with her._

XIII. Cas’s ride was late. After he’d blacked out in the director’s office, he’d been taken to the hospital to get patched up: painkillers, bullet removal, stitches, dressing, and a sling. That had taken an hour. After, he’d tried and failed to take a nap and instead wheedled a meal out of a passing nurse. Still the department vehicle hadn’t arrived to take him back to the office despite Cas’s repeat phone calls. 

His doctor had strongly advised Cas to go home and rest rather than return to the office. Cas had thanked him for the suggestion but refused; Cas needed to know what the hell kind of game Dean and Bobby had been playing for the past few years. Bobby hadn’t answered his phone, and Cas hadn’t had the nerve to call Dean. Even if he had called Dean, Cas thought, would Dean even answer? What could they even _say _to each other?

There was a knock on Cas’s open door. Cas, sitting in a gown in the hospital bed, looked up. Special Agent Dean Winchester hovered at the threshold, unsure. He was holding a bag in his hands.

Cas ran his hand over his face. He felt the nervous heat of it on his palm. “Come in,” he finally managed to say. 

Dean took a few steps in. He scratched the back of his head and held up a bag of Cas’s clothes in the other. “I’m your ride.”

Cas stared at him, disbelieving. “‘I’m your ride,’” he repeated. His voice shook. He felt manic. “You made me believe you were a traitor to the country, Dean. I treated you like _shit _for a whole year, then I raised a gun to the _director of the FBI _for you - and all you say is, ‘I’m your ride’?”

Dean sighed. He looked helpless and tired, so tired. “Cas, I dunno where to start. I really don’t. I’m happy just to be in the same room with you without having to lie.”

To his embarrassment, Cas found himself fighting back sudden frustrated tears. He brought up the issue of immediate importance first: “I assume the director was taken into custody for something I don’t understand yet.”

“I shot her,” Dean said, almost immediately. “She was aiming at your heart, Cas. If I hadn’t shot her, the bullet would have -”

A sudden lump formed in Cas’s throat. He shook his head. “I don’t remember - “

Dean looked away, into a corner. His eyes were glossy. “Yeah, well, you were too busy being shot.”

Cas searched his face.“She’s… dead?”

Dean’s mouth was set in a grim line. “No. That would have been more than she deserves.”

All of a sudden it occurred to Cas that he was talking to Dean. Not Dean the felon, not Dean the traitor to the country, not Dean who was _back-but-never-really-going-to-be-back_, but Dean. His Dean. The Dean he thought he’d never see again. Cas covered his eyes with the palm of his good hand and tried to breathe through the mess of confusion and sharp-tipped joy in his heart. “I don’t understand any of this.”

Cas heard Dean step a little closer. He was by Cas’s feet now. When Cas removed the hand from his eyes, he saw Dean looking at the table in the corner of the room. On top of it was Cas’s bloody shirt in an evidence bag. His face was pale. “It’s a long story, Cas.”

“I want to know,” Cas insisted.

Dean watched Cas’s face for a long time. Cas watched right back. It seemed like the first time he had _looked _at Dean in three years. It probably was. 

Dean sighed. Slowly, still watching Cas’s reaction, he perched himself on the edge of Cas’s bed. Then he started - haltingly at first, then more confidently as he went on:

“It was Bobby’s idea. Even before you and I joined the bureau, he was hearing talk from his informants that Amara was selling favors and information to foreign nations where she could. She was just an agent then, but she found ways to do it. He just never had any proof besides the word of two-bit criminals.

“He wanted to do the job right. He figured we needed a way to bait her, but we needed to do it securely. …That’s when I came in”

“You were the bait,” Cas said, suddenly understanding, suddenly terrified for the Dean of three years ago. “He asked you to become - you were a traitor to the FBI, just like she was.”

Dean bristled a little bit. “Can you not say it like that? I got my badge back and everything, buddy.”

Cas’s lips twitched upward despite himself. “Sorry,” he said.

His reaction seemed to surprise Dean. “It - it’s fine,” he stammered.

Cas was still frustrated, still angry, still hurting - but none of that was because of Dean any longer. “Hurry up,” he said softly. 

Dean stared for so long that Cas thought he might never find out the rest of what happened. Finally, though, Dean moved a little closer on the bed and began again, speaking a little more quietly. “I had to sell it hard for two years. Bobby wanted me to stick with it longer, really build my rep as a guy willing to do anything for the right price, but two years away from my life, pretending to be a traitor, knowing you and Sammy hated me… I couldn’t do it any longer than that. I convinced him to move forward with the plan. 

“He pretended to retire and orchestrated her promotion with the president’s help. We figured she’d get sloppy in a position of power. Then I let myself get caught. Striking a deal to work with the FBI at that point was easy; she didn’t want me in prison any more than I wanted to be in prison.”

“What did she want from you?” Cas asked, breathless, still terrified for Dean even though he was right there in front of him, done with his life away from Cas.

“I still don’t know,” Dean said. “I kept trying to charm her but it only worked so far. I was hoping she’d let me in on whatever she was doing with her position of power, but that never happened. I think she was still testing me.” His voice was quieter when he said the next part: “Which means those two years out there were… useless.”

Cas’s fingers itched to touch Dean’s face. He curled them into his palms. “We closed ten cases with what you learned.”

Dean looked at the door even though there was no one there. “That’s great and all, but I… I still don’t feel like it was worth it.” He turned his head back and looked at Cas then, sadly. “I made you and Sammy hate me. I haven’t even met his kid. You… god, Cas, you think I didn’t hear how hard you worked to catch me? How much you hated me?”

Cas closed his eyes. “I hated you so much only because I… cared for you so much,” he said. He wanted to say so many other things: _You were everything I believed in, and you betrayed the country. My whole world shrank down to that betrayal, and when you came back it was like the world was taunting me. _But there was none of that here, in this hospital room. Cas was here to get patched up; maybe so too could Dean. Cas opened his eyes to find Dean’s sad gaze. “You did what you were ordered to do. So did I. I forgive you for all of it.”

Dean pressed his lips together. His nose was pink and his eyes were glossy, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas nodded. A silence descended. Dean turned away to wipe his eyes, and Cas took that opportunity to take a deep, calming breath. Eventually he found his voice again. “Have you called Sam?”

Dean cleared his throat. “I - uh, I asked Bobby to do it. I don’t know if I could handle that on top of this one.”

“I see,” Cas said quietly. A twinge of pain made him wince. Then he remembered that he hadn’t heard the most important part of the story, the reason he had a hole in his shoulder in the first place: “So how did you finally figure it out?”

Dean was frowning at Cas’s discomfort. He made a movement to touch Cas on the arm, but he pulled his hand back. He looked away, embarrassed. “Apparently betraying the country is the family business,” he explained. “I couldn’t figure out how, or even if, she was communicating with her contacts. Then the flowers from her brother started coming, but of course no one ever let the neighborhood felon near them.”

“So you broke into her office to find…?”

“So I deactivated my tracker, stole a car, broke into her office, and found encoded notes underneath the floral foam. Her brother’s a bestselling author, and he’s traveling regularly - easy enough to establish criminal contacts with that sort of alibi.”

Cas paused for a moment to take all that in. “You found the evidence… And I tried to stop you.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thanks for reminding me. You know, you could have fucked it all up, following me up there like you did.”

Cas didn’t know what came over him; he reached out and tugged Dean’s arm away so that he could see Dean’s face. Dean’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. Cas told him, very clearly, “She was about to shoot you, if you recall.”

“Are you seriously saying you saved me from the situation I wouldn’t even have been in if _you _hadn’t stalled me at the door?” Dean was grinning. 

Cas hadn’t seen him smile in years. He felt his eyes start to sting. He looked away. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, sobering up.

Cas tried to put words to the mess of thoughts in his head. “I - I don’t know if I know how to…be like we were before,” he admitted.

Dean looked down at his hands. One was in his lap and the other was feeling the fabric of the hospital sheets underneath his fingers. Doubtless he was thinking of the things he’d done while he was away. “I don’t know if it’s even possible to be like we were before,” he finally said. He looked at Cas then, very seriously. “And… we really don’t _hav_e to be… like we were before.”

The way he said it made Cas’s breath come a little more quickly. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said slowly.

“I think you do,” Dean said, but despite his words his voice was shaky. A beat passed. Dean stood up slowly, only to sit a little closer to Cas, close enough that Cas could see the nervous flush under Dean’s freckles.

Astounded, Cas reached out his left hand slowly. Dean closed his eyes and took it. “I missed you,” he whispered, broken.

Cas remembered everything he’d said to Dean over the past year, every cruel accusation he’d hurled at a man who’d only been trying to protect the people he loved and had sacrificed so much of his life to do it. He lifted Dean’s hand and pressed it to his lips. He waited until Dean opened his eyes and looked at him. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” he said.

Dean shook his head. “I get it,” he murmured. “It’s fine.” His throat bobbed. He licked his lips. “Can I - “ He didn’t finish the question. He leaned in instead and waited, his breath unsteady. 

Cas didn’t think. He met Dean’s lips with his own. Dean’s soft answering groan was raw, the sound of a man whose hurts were met with life-saving saltwater. They kissed for a long time, their hands still linked between them.

XIV. Her name was Mary Ellen, and she was two years old. She had her mother’s eyes and her father’s nose. She was wearing a onesie that said, _I love my uncle, _and Dean was absolutely thrilled to meet her.

Dean and Cas babysat for the weekend while Sam and Eileen took a much-needed break. Dean and Cas too needed a break, but their break didn’t consist of wine-tastings and beach towns; they’d been granted two weeks of leave by Bobby, and they’d been spending it learning and relearning each other in Cas’s home. Dean had retrieved his belongings from the FBI evidence lockup, but he hadn’t been able to get his apartment back. Luckily, it hadn’t been a difficult choice for Cas to offer his home to his best friend.

On Saturday night, with Mary Ellen asleep in the guest room, Dean kissed Cas’s neck under their covers. “You know,” he said conversationally, “There were times when I was gone that I really thought I would go insane.”

Cas still had difficulty hearing about Dean’s time away. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on Dean’s lips against his collarbone.

“I thought I’d go insane if I spent much longer never having kissed you,” Dean continued. His genial tone had faded into something more sincere. Dean touched Cas’s face, but Cas kept his eyes closed tight. “If I hadn’t caught her that night,” Dean said, “I don’t know how I - how could I have lived any longer without this?”

Cas knew the feeling. Every day, every night, every hour with Dean was a miracle: something he didn’t deserve and should never have gotten but still _did, _against all odds. And he was never letting it go again. He opened his eyes and met Dean’s soft gaze. “Luckily you don’t have to find out,” he murmured.

Dean kissed him softly, just once, in reply. He was tired, and Cas’s shoulder still twinged. There were nights that it seemed they couldn’t ever get close enough, but on this night they slept.

XV. Retirement suited Bobby. When it finally came, a few years down the road, neither Dean nor Cas heard a peep out of him for a few months. When he finally did come around to visit them, they found he’d grown a little rounder and a little redder and a lot more ready to laugh. It wasn’t laughter he responded with, however, when they asked him to be a groomsman at their wedding; it was with a red nose and a sniffle and a mumble that sort of sounded like, “Of course, you idiots.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeesh. I feel like I have to apologize for so much in this fic. Obviously I'm not particularly good at this type of format - roman numerals and time skips and whatnot. I signed up for a minibang (5k) and didn't think I had the time for a megabang (15k), so I had to find some way of condensing my idea into something I could actually manage. Thus, this format.
> 
> I should also mention that I've never been particularly good with casefic, so if there are any glaring holes in the crime/solving of the crime, it's because despite many hours of sleep lost, I just couldn't stop up all those plotholes. I am so sorry. 
> 
> In general I'm just not quite satisfied with this fic, but don't have the time or the energy to make it into what I feel it should be. 
> 
> Thank you anyhow for reading and despite my feelings I hope you liked it anyway. <3
> 
> Thank you so much to the mods of this challenge for their patience!


End file.
